


Brother to Brother

by Evergreene



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Friendship, Hurt!d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, Musketeers in caves, Worried Musketeers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evergreene/pseuds/Evergreene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When d’Artagnan fails to return from a mission, the Musketeers learn that they are not the only ones to value a brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper multi-chapter fic in this fandom, so I'm a tad nervous about it. It's just a short chapter to start with, but I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

'They are late.'

'They will be here, Athos. Now, come at me again. I want to see how you did that.'

Athos frowned, but nevertheless saluted Aramis with his sword and attacked once more. Their blades met with a clash of steel, splitting the silence of the otherwise empty courtyard, and black shadows went scuttling against the high stone walls as he struck once, twice, then a third time, angling his blade until, a moment later, Aramis’ sword had landed on the frozen-hard ground.

Breathing hard, Athos lifted a questioning eyebrow, but Aramis shook his head, his hands raised in surrender. 'I missed it,' he admitted, his breaths coming fast and white in the frost-bitten air.

'Again?'

'My apologies, I was too busy avoiding the sword coming at my face.'

'I wouldn't have hurt you.'

'Try telling that to my instinct for survival,' Aramis replied darkly, going to collect his weapon as Athos ran a gloved hand down his own blade, cleaning it of the small flecks of snow that had started to fall from the ink-dark sky. That done, he glanced at the tall archway that led out of the yard, which had remained frustratingly empty for the past several hours.

He scowled. 'Where are they?'

Aramis came to stand next to him, sheathing his sword. 'Why, Athos, one would almost think you cared.'

'Don't start that again.'

'I'm just saying, your concern is touching. Truly, it is a great thing when-'

'Quiet!'

But Aramis had already stilled as the thud of heavy hoofbeats sounded from beyond the walls of the garrison, a low drum growing to rumbling thunder. A moment later, a horse and rider burst into view, the beast lathered with sweat and the rider dishevelled, with a blanket of snow scattered over the thick blue cloak that swung from his broad shoulders.

Athos strode forwards, his boots crunching on the frosty ground as the horse skidded to a stop, its nostrils red and flaring as it danced in place, its blood up from the run. He was half-aware of Aramis hurrying to take the reins as Porthos slid down from the saddle, but his attention was elsewhere, focused on the senseless figure slung limply over the horse's withers, limbs long and dangling and with the silvery gleam of blood easily visible against the dark hair that hung forwards, damp and straggling.

Instinctively, he reached forwards, but a shout from Porthos pulled him up short.

'Wait!'

His fingers a bare inch from the unmoving body, he glanced up at Porthos, who looked back at him with a sombre gaze, his shoulders heaving in great breaths as he shook his head.

‘That's not d'Artagnan.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the short but hopfully sweet first chapter. This next one is a little longer (and the next one even more so!), so I hope you enjoy!

Athos strode along the narrow corridor, Aramis and Porthos in his wake and Treville at his side, matching him step for step as he led the way to the small prison cell buried deep within the garrison’s walls. The lamp he carried was their only source of light, its flickering flame a silent sentinel, but he paid it no mind as he strode along, his thoughts already far ahead.

'Tell me again,' Treville commanded, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair to smooth it as they turned a corner and descended a few low steps.

Glancing behind him, Athos nodded to Porthos, who launched into the story he had told Athos and Aramis in the courtyard.

'It was an ambush. By the Corneille brothers. They killed the envoy we were guarding before we even knew they were there - we stood no chance. If d'Artagnan hadn't ridden straight at them-'

Athos scowled, raising his gloved hand to brush aside a low-hanging cobweb as he turned another corner. 'That was beyond foolish,' he snapped over his shoulder, sending the lantern swinging wildly. 'You should have stopped him.'

Porthos snorted. 'D'Artagnan's not exactly one to listen when he gets an idea in his head. Besides, he saved my life.'

'At the cost of his own!'

'Porthos said he was still alive when he last saw him,' interjected Aramis, his voice echoing strangely against the stone walls. 'He may yet be.'

'For now,' Athos muttered under his breath, but Treville, beside him, shook his head.

'If it was the Corneille brothers, they won't kill him. Not while we have our guest with us.'

‘What makes you so sure?’ Athos demanded, but Aramis cut over him, clapping a hand on Porthos’ broad shoulder as they drew to a halt before the solid wooden door to the prison cell, which was locked and bolted shut.

‘I still don’t know how you managed to capture him, Porthos.’

'We're fortunate he did,' said Treville, nodding to Athos, who unhooked a set of keys from his belt and went to work. 'This man might be the one chance of getting d'Artagnan back alive.'

Athos scowled. 'What makes you think they will be willing to deal with us?' he demanded, twisting a solid iron key in the lock before pulling back the final bolts. 'They are highwaymen, they have no honour, no attachments.'

'There is such a thing as honour amongst thieves, you know,' retorted Porthos as Athos swung the door open and stood back to allow Treville entry before following him inside, with Aramis and Porthos on his heels.

The room inside was warm, a vast contrast to the frozen world above, but Athos dealt no more than a cursory glance at the prisoner who was slumped against the far wall before taking up a position beside the door and folding his arms across his chest. 'There is no honour amongst the men who ambushed you. The three Corneille brothers do not rob travellers, they rob their bodies. They kill first, without giving their victims a chance to hand over their valuables and flee with their lives. They call themselves thieves but they are murderers, nothing more. D'Artagnan will be lucky if he survives even a day in their company.'

'So we abandon him then?' demanded Porthos, bristling.

'No, I’m saying that we must be practical. There is no sense thinking the Corneille brothers will even hear us out. Far better that we send a full regiment of musketeers after them, the sooner the better.'

Treville interrupted, his voice impatient. 'For one who so often cautions d'Artagnan to put his head before his heart, you are failing to think this through, Athos. If d'Artagnan is not dead yet, he will be as soon as his captors realise there are Musketeers on their tail. Not to mention that you are forgetting the most important thing about the Corneilles - their one weak spot that we are in prime position to exploit.'

'And what is that?'

'That they are brothers.' Treville turned to look down at the youth sitting on the floor before them. 'By the look of our prisoner, Porthos has managed to capture their youngest, the one called Bertrand. Mark my words, the other two will want him back.'

Aramis' eyes lit up. 'You think they will make a trade? Their brother for d'Artagnan?'

Treville nodded. 'The Corneille brothers are as famous for their loyalty to each other as for their crimes. Believe me when I say that this man is valuable to us.'

'And to think my mother always said I was worth less than the shirt on my back.'

Athos turned to see the prisoner gazing up at them, his blue eyes bright beneath a purpling bruise blooming high on his forehead, half-hidden beneath a shock of jet-black dark hair that was doing its best to straggle free of a rough cloth tie.

Porthos eyed him. 'How long have you been awake?' he demanded.

The prisoner, who looked not much older than d'Artagnan, stretched his neck, cricking it right and left before he tugged curiously at the ropes that bound his slim wrists. 'Long enough.’ He frowned, his forehead crinkling. ‘That was quite the blow you gave me.'

'You and your brothers had just massacred my companions.'

'All's fair in love and war, is it not?'

Athos put out a hand to hold Porthos back as Treville crouched before the prisoner, who looked back at him with his head cocked like an inquisitive sparrow, eyes bright and curious.

'You are the youngest of the three Corneille brothers? Bertrand?'

The man broke into a merry smile. 'That is a serious accusation, sir, and one to which I would be foolish to admit.' He looked around, his lips twitching with humour. 'Particularly amongst the present company. You are musketeers, are you not?'

'We are,' said Treville. 'And I will make this simple for you. If you do not go by the name Bertrand Corneille, we have no reason to keep you alive and will send you to the gallows at dawn tomorrow. However, if you do lay claim to that name, you are in the valuable position of being able to assist us.'

'And if I was Bertrand? What would he get out of this arrangement?'

'His life.'

'Ah. A worthy prize.' Tilting his head to the side, Bertrand smiled at them. 'So, my newfound friends…what is it you need me to do?'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and kudos-ed, it means the world and really encourages me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Athos gazed at the open countryside laid out before him like a frozen blanket. Around him, daylight was creeping slowly over the world, turning it from black to grey even as soft snowflakes began to float gently down from a sky of heavy clouds pierced through with the occasional ray of light.

Behind him, he could hear the horses snorting a few yards away, their breaths steaming in the frozen air as they snuffled over the snowy ground, searching for sparse bits of grass that had so far survived the heavy winter frosts. He, Aramis and Porthos had left them ground-tied, ready for a quick getaway they hoped they would not need. Still, he thought, as he stared out over the ocean of white in front of him, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Beside him, Aramis rubbed his gloved hands together, then brought them up to his mouth in an attempt to garner some warmth. 'It's freezing out here,' he murmured, blowing on them.

Athos nodded, dislodging a few feathery snowflakes that had settled on the brim of his hat. 'Winter tends to have that effect,' he said dryly, continuing to scan the surrounding fields.

Over on his other side, Porthos leant towards him, wrapped in a heavy cloak and with his fists clenched tight on the rope that bound the wrists of the man next to him, who was whistling a soft ditty that was quickly growing on all of their nerves. 'I don't like this,' he grumbled.

Athos let his fingers stray once more to the pistol at his hips, checking that it was loose in its holster. 'Nor do I.' Taking his eyes from the fields for a moment, he glanced beyond Porthos, raising his voice. 'Are you certain this is the place?'

Finishing up his song, Bertrand nodded congenially as dark wisps of his hair blew faintly in the wind that nipped the air. 'Do you doubt me, Monsieur?'

'I doubt everyone. Do not think yourself of particular note.'

Beside him, Aramis cast him a sideways glance. 'How does our new friend know they will be here? Why here, why now?'

Hunching his own cloak about him, Athos shook his head dismissively. ‘There is no great mystery. In all likelihood, the Corneilles have an arranged meeting place in case they are separated.'

Leaning around Porthos, Bertrand eyed him appreciatively. 'You would make a good highwayman, sir.'

'I make a good soldier,' Athos retorted bluntly. Movement in one of the fields caught his eye and he stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. 'Someone is coming.'

Sure enough, the shadowy figures of two horsemen could just be seen, silhouetted against the iron-grey light as the beasts plodded slowly towards them, leaving a trail of hoofprints that marred the otherwise perfect landscape. Sharing a look with Aramis and Porthos, Athos waited until the men got within one hundred feet before he moved forwards and raised his hand. 'Hold!' he bellowed, his voice ringing out across the empty fields.

The newcomers drew to a halt. They dismounted and it became obvious that there was someone else with them, someone who was visible as only a slim shadow thrown over the back of one of the horses.

'Is that d'Artagnan?' Porthos demanded, craning his neck to see better as the shadowy figure was dragged down from the horse by the two men.

'It's him,' replied Aramis, whose eyes were the sharpest of the three. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he turned to clap a relieved hand on Athos’ back. 'It would appear that d’Artagnan has once again lived up to his reputation for avoiding certain death.'

'A fortunate talent,' remarked Bertrand, who was bouncing lightly on his heels. Athos narrowed his eyes at him and he offered a courteous smile. 'Not that I ever had any doubt of his safety, my brothers being the gentlemen they are.'

'If your brothers are gentlemen, I’ll eat my hat,' retorted Porthos, who was staring at the group, his forehead creased in a frown as he tried to see through the snow, which had started to fall more thickly as the clouds closed in overhead, stealing away the cold dawn light and leaving the day a leaden grey. 'How does he look, Aramis?'

'It's difficult to say,' Aramis admitted, nudging his hat back on his forehead. 'I can't tell if d’Artagnan is wounded from here, only that he's alive.'

‘A brilliant deduction,’ announced Bertrand. ‘What was it that enlightened you? The fact that he is now walking his way towards us?’

‘Let’s just say that I have a brilliant mind for supposition,’ Aramis replied lightly, his eyes still on the approaching group.

Athos remained silent, keeping only half an ear on the conversation as he watched the newcomers make their slow way through the thickly layered snow that covered the ground, which had started to ripple and shift as a keen breeze picked up from the north. Now that they were closer, he could see that d’Artagnan had been stripped of his heavy winter cloak and gloves, and his arms were roped to his sides by several loops of rope about his chest, the ends of which were gripped tightly in the hands of one of his companions, who themselves wore thick cloaks and broad hats that were pulled low against wind. A strip of blue cloth, looking to have been torn from the bottom of d’Artagnan’s absent cloak, gagged d’Artagnan, but other than that he looked unharmed, though Athos saw his eyes narrow as he caught sight of them waiting in the snow.

The men came to a halt twenty feet away and there was a pause as everyone took stock of each other: the musketeers, the highwaymen and the two prisoners. Finally, the larger of the two newcomers lifted his hat in greeting. 'Good morning,' he called, his voice muffled by a thick black scarf pulled high across face, hiding most of it from view. 'You appear to have something of ours.'

Athos stepped forwards, the fresh, icy snow crunching under his boots. 'I could say the same. You are the Corneille brothers, I presume?'

The man exchanged a look with his companion, whose sharp nose and eagle-like eyes were half-hidden under the low bridge of his hat. 'You know who we are.'

Athos lifted his chin in acknowledgement. 'Then I would have this done before we are chanced upon by others. I propose a trade - your man for ours.' At once, d’Artagnan’s eyes flicked to him, dark and angry, but Athos shook his head minutely, warning him not to interfere as the larger man rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his side and only just visible under his russet-coloured cloak.

'And why would musketeers be willing to deal with us?'

'For the same reason that you are here,' said Aramis, stepping forwards. Immediately, the two men tensed and Athos shot out a hand to bring him to a halt. Aramis had already paused, however, his hands raised placatingly.

‘I only wish to check on the condition of our friend.’

The sharp-nosed man grinned meanly. 'He's got two arms, two legs. What more do you want?'

Athos held up a warning hand to calm Aramis and Porthos, just as the first man laid a mollifying hand on his companion's shoulder. 'What my brother means to say, gentlemen, is that we may be criminals, but we are not so foolish as to harm someone when it’s clear he may be of value to us.’

'Yet you do not let him speak for himself?' Aramis challenged them.

The man grimaced. 'Paon and I grew tired of your friend’s curses sometime near dawn,’ he said dryly. ‘For one so young, he has quite the mouth on him.'

Athos felt an elbow in his side and he turned to see Porthos quirk him a quick grin. ‘I always knew the lad would do me proud.’

'I’ve said it before, you are a poor influence on him, Porthos,' Athos murmured, but he silenced as the man named Paon stepped forward, brushing past his larger companion as the snow began to fall even more heavily.

'Enough words, Verreaux,' he snapped. Reaching for the rope that leashed d’Artagnan to his brother, he gave it a violent jerk, sending d’Artagnan stumbling forward onto to his knees as he drew a pistol from under his cloak. 'I would have this done.'

Aramis and Porthos both started forwards, Porthos throwing Bertrand’s rope to Athos without a moment’s pause, but Verreaux held up his hand sharply, holding them where they were. Bending down, he wrapped a strong hand about d’Artagnan’s forearm, hauling him to his feet. 'Patience, Paon,’ he said slowly, releasing d’Artagnan so that he stood by himself, his legs coated in a white crust of snow and his eyes furious above the gag. ‘By all appearances, these men appear to hold their friend in equal esteem as we do our own Bertrand. Such a sentiment is to be admired, even amongst the King’s Musketeers.’ His eyes flicked to Athos. ‘I must admit, I am curious of the regard you have for him. Who is he? He does not look like a brother to any of you.’

‘He’s as good as,’ growled Porthos.

Verreaux gave Porthos an evaluating look. ‘I see. Then speaking of brothers…’ His eyes flicked to Bertrand, stood relaxed and easy beside Athos even as the rising wind nipped and darted at him, tugging at his clothes and cape. 'How does our own fare?'

Bertrand dealt him a half-bow that somehow managed to look dapper despite the ropes at his wrists. ‘Surprisingly well, Verreaux, in spite of my recent trials.’

Porthos snorted. ‘Trials? You spent a night in a warm cell.’

‘What can I say? I hate to be without my creature comforts.’

‘You slept a damn sight better than I did guarding you, I’ll tell you that.’

As Porthos continued to distract the Corneilles, Athos leant towards Aramis, his movements slight. ‘What do you think?’ he murmured, having to raise his voice more than he would like against the increasing wind.

Aramis shook his head, his eyes fixed on d’Artagnan, standing stiffly at arm’s length from his captors. ‘He's too pale.'

'The cold?'

'More likely than not. But let's get this over with.’ Aramis gave an apprehensive nod to the leaden clouds above them and the eddies of snow that had begun to swirl more wildly, encircling them all. ‘The sooner we have d’Artagnan back with us, the better.'

With a nod, Athos raised his voice, interrupting Bertrand mid-complaint. 'If we are all satisfied, may we get this underway?'

Verreaux gave him a searching look, then mirrored his nod and began to draw in the rope that bound d’Artagnan, who moved towards him unwillingly. Yet Paon put out his hand and grabbed at the rope, preventing his brother from continuing.

'How do we know you will hold to your promise?' he demanded, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the rope as he stared at the waiting Musketeers.

Athos met his gaze levelly. 'I rarely say things I do not mean. Now, may we proceed?' He turned to Porthos and passed him the rope he still held. 'Release him.'

Within moments, Bertrand was rubbing his freed wrists and backing away from them. 'It has been a pleasure to spend time in your company, gentlemen,' he said. 'And I hope never to repeat the experience.' He dealt them another of his little bows. 'I bid you farewell.'

He turned and started to walk towards his brothers, leaning into a sudden headwind that had sprung up from nowhere, dangerously cold. At the same time, Verreaux took back the rope from Paon and tucked the end of it into d’Artagnan’s clenched fists, before giving him a push that sent him stumbling roughly towards the musketeers.

‘Porthos, help him,’ Athos ordered, but Porthos had already moved forwards and within moments had reached d'Artagnan, just as Bertrand reached his brothers. Through the now-gusting snow, Athos saw Porthos grip d’Artagnan’s shoulder, giving him a rough shake that was presumably the start of a reprimand for his recklessness of the previous night, before pulling out a knife and beginning to saw through his bonds. Aramis hurried forwards to help and, after a moment, so did Athos, though he kept half an eye on the Corneille brothers, already nearly lost in what was swiftly shifting into a snowstorm.

As a result, he was watching as Verreaux pulled Bertrand up behind him on his horse, then urged it forwards. And he was watching as Paon pulled a musket from where it had been stowed against his horse’s saddle and turned to take aim at d’Artagnan’s retreating back.

Athos let out a shout, but it was too late. There was blast of musket fire that shook the distant trees and, as the eruption of sound faded, he watched d’Artagnan stumble, then topple slowly forwards into the snow.


End file.
